


The Locks and The Dreaming

by Ygern



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: AU, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 12:09:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17662367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ygern/pseuds/Ygern
Summary: An AU set in a slightly futuristic Oxford after global warming has changed the planet.James plays his guitar for coins in the streets and discovers Robbie Lewis after an attack that was supposed to leave him dead and nurses him back to health.





	The Locks and The Dreaming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [McG](https://archiveofourown.org/users/McG/gifts), [iloveyoudie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iloveyoudie/gifts).



> For McG and Ange who persuaded me to put my other story on hold and write this one. So this is all your fault.

DI Robert Lewis was seething as he walked down High Street. He’s been this close to making the arrest, months of careful tracking of smugglers and dealers on the Black Market and finally he’d had his man; and then it had all been blown to hell. There’d been angry words in the Super’s office and he’d been thrown off the case. He’d become a target, and was no use in the operation any more. He’d been told to go home and keep his head down for a week or three. It was stupid. All that work and now, nothing. On top of that, the bastard would probably get away with it now without Lewis to steer his colleagues into the right corners and crannies.

He considered getting the tram, but decided against it. Perhaps the walk would help to defuse his fury. He thought he’d take a stroll along the river and watch the barges off-loading their goods: animals, food, luxury goods and devices. He was sweating in the heat and after a while he took off his jacket and threw it over one shoulder. His mother had read a book to him once when he was small about how England used to be cooler and most people had enough to eat. Then Global Warming had changed the world, Africa had become a burning desert, England started to have boiling summers and freezing winters. People had poured into those countries not ravaged by endless drought. Lewis couldn’t really imagine any of that before time no matter how hard he tried. His Oxford had always been full of people and marketplaces and languages. He pushed past buskers hoping for coins and beggars hoping for anything, and then a siding where goats and chickens were filling the air with the smell of dung and a cacophony of noise. He eyed the chickens with a view to supper and then decided he wasn’t in the mood for eating much. Not alone in his empty home. Not today. Tiring of the river, he turned his back on it and the golden spires of the Old City and strode towards The Dreaming. He saw nothing when his skull was split open from behind and knew nothing when the mob closed in around him.

The summer sun was finally on its downward trajectory for the day, and James Hathaway sighed and reluctantly packed up his water bottle and retrieved the coins that had been collecting in the tin cup in front of him. He carefully wrapped his guitar, laid it in its case and put it into his backpack where its neck stuck out at the top, along with the water bottle and the now-empty tub of tomatoes he’d brought for his lunch. The coins he tipped into a canvas pouch strapped to his chest. It didn’t do to leave valuables in reach of pickpockets’ quick hands. It hadn’t been the best of days for coins, but it was summer and that meant it was light until late, he needed no heating and his box garden was bearing fruitfully. He lingered at a stall at one of the open markets bargaining for a bag of rice and a pound of meat. The vendor insisted it was goat, but Hathaway had his doubts. His stomach grumbled after a day of running on his home-grown salad and made up his mind for him. With these transactions completed and stowed in the backpack as well, he shouldered it again and set out for the The Locks. 

He skipped down an alley behind some warehouses and skirted a factory and a derelict building inhabited by families too poor to afford even a room in the steel container city of The Locks. He was now passing what acted as a dump for several blocks, a stinking square of bins and skips and mounds of discarded broken flotsam. It was usually crawling with children and scrap hunters who combed through the rubbish for items they could use or fix or sell. Today it was eerily quiet, as if the Hygiene Department had recently visited and burned and scoured everything remaining. But it wasn’t one of those days. There were rats scurrying through the heaps, but no ash or burn. Something had warned the regulars off and James could feel his hackles rising. He cautiously moved through the square, extra vigilant for sounds or movements, which is why he caught the whimper before he saw the body. It was bloody and broken and motionless, wrapped in black canvas, and he froze in horror. But there had been a whimper, and corpses generally made no sound. Then it made the sound again, like a low cry. James crept forward and gasped silently when he saw the face of the man, sucking air with every ragged breath. James could feel his own heart pounding. This had to be the work of one of the smuggling gangs who meted out their own version of the law one body at a time. He was about to withdraw as silently as he came when the man’s eyes fluttered open and brilliant blue stared vacantly at him and then the sky. Again he made to withdraw, but he was suddenly filled with pity for this man. If he wasn’t dead already by evening then the Burners would get him. They didn’t check before the fires started. This man would burn to death in agony, if he wasn’t already insensate to pain from his injuries. His heart began pounding again as adrenaline surged through him and he crouched down to pull the man over his shoulder. His mind raced as he lifted the body. Was he out of his mind? This man could be anybody, he was certainly an enemy of the gangs. He could be dangerous. The brief glimpse of blue eyes had steadied him for a second, but eye colour meant nothing and was a foolish thing to base trust on. But he was already carrying him, so now he concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other as he carried him home. He’d have to deal with the consequences later. Few paid him any attention as he staggered under his burden. Dusk had finally arrived, and a man carrying a shapeless bundle on his back barely attracted a glance.

He struggled with the door to his container-home in The Locks, made clumsy by the weight of the man on his shoulder. He tried to lay him down as gently as possible on his couch and hoped the journey home hanging over his shoulder had not hurt the man further. He placed his backpack carefully in the corner and then returned to the door and fastened all the bolts rapidly. Then he unpacked his purchases and stashed them on the counter-top that served as his kitchen. Finally, he poured water into a basin, grabbed a cloth and returned to the silent man on his couch. Gingerly, he pulled the canvas back and began to wash as much of the blood as he could. Five basins later and he had cleaned most of the blood and dirt away. He’d had to cut most of the man’s clothing off, bar his socks and his belt, but it was all soaked through with blood and filth anyway. The man carried no identification, no debit chip, only an old-fashioned wallet that had been emptied if it had had anything in it before. He scampered into the section that served as his bedroom and bathroom and rummaged around for anything resembling an antiseptic. He found a bottle of Dettol and a tube of ointment that promised to heal all scrapes and abrasions and returned. He refilled the basin again and began to daub the cuts and welts with the diluted antiseptic. His face was swollen from what must have been a punch to the jaw and his eye sockets were swollen and purple. The man whimpered again and cried out as the solution sluiced into a deep cut on his chest. James spoke soothingly and low, a meaningless babble of reassurance as he dabbed the excess liquid and applied ointment to the worst of the injuries. Then, laying down a clean towel, he rolled the man over with some effort, removing the foul canvas at last and began the whole process again on his back. The back was worse, if anything, crisscrossed with purple welts and weeping abrasions where the skin had been broken, but at least there were no deep cuts. Finally he daubed at the head-wound. The cut had bled profusely and there was a large lump on his skull. At last he had done all he could, and he wondered whether he should leave the man on the couch. Eventually he decided against it and gritted his teeth and heaved the man as gently as possible onto his back again and began the short journey into the bedroom and deposited him onto his own bed and pulled the duvet and quilt over his body.

Weary and starving he returned to the main compartment again to clean up the mess and prepare something to eat. The metallic smell of blood hung in the air until he had rolled up the ruined garments in the canvas and then took them outside and dumped them in the community incinerator where they would be burned later in the week. Another basin of water and Dettol followed and James spent some time on his hands and knees mopping up blood and mud from the couch and the floor. When he was done his appetite had disappeared and he wearily went to shower. Once clean and re-dressed he hovered over the motionless form in his bed. He pulled out his tablet and did a search for the sorts of wounds he had seen on the man’s body and made a list of things he would need to treat them. He sighed with tiredness, but reflected that it was probably better to go out again while the man was still sleeping. He grabbed his money pouch, augmented it with funds in a jar on the kitchen counter, and strapped it on, shrugged his coat over his shoulders and set out into the night again.

The City was different at night, full of shadows and movement. James stuck to the main streets that were lit up and still thronging with people and food vendors. He headed straight for the all-night Clinic and waited patiently until he saw Doctor Ariff come through. He’d met her before when he’d helped out at a soup kitchen one winter and had been impressed by her dedication and kindness, even to people who couldn’t afford medicine. The Clinic ran on donations, but took payment from those who had the money. James briefly described the injuries on the man lying in his bed and Ariff had frowned and cautioned him about the potential dangers of what he had done. Both of them knew that to attract the attention of the gangs was inviting a world of trouble. Warning delivered, Doctor Ariff had sold him a few bottles and issued instructions. James winced at the asking price but had paid over the coin without argument. Then with a swift thank you, he stepped back out into the streets.

When he returned the eastern sky was already lightening again, dark blue slowly shot through with rose and gold. The bells rang out and he paused to listen. It was only in these early hours that you could hear them out in The Locks, normally the din of the City and the River drowned them out. James had loved the bells since he was a child, the only thing some days that seemed to be permanent in his life.

The man was still sleeping inside, so James allowed himself to sink wearily onto the couch and doze. Hours later he jerked away with a crick in his spine and a headache. He guzzled water greedily from the tap and then turned his attention to his bed. The man was still sleeping, but more lightly this time, so he filled a cup with water and took the pills he’d bought from the all-night clinic and sat next to the prone form on his bed. James shook him gently. Once again the man’s blue eyes flashed open, this time registering confusion as well as pain.

“I’ve got some medicine from the clinic for you,” he said hoping he sounded reassuring. “Can you swallow them? Don’t worry, I know one of the doctors there and she advised me on what to get.”

The man’s eyes seemed to register something, bewilderment, fear, questions; but eventually he nodded and James popped the pills into his mouth and held the cup to his lips to drink.

“You’ve been hurt, but you’re safe here. You probably need to sleep.”

The blue eyes seemed to consider this, and then they closed again. Within seconds the man’s breathing became more rhythmic and he’d fallen asleep again.

James considered going to work. He’d squandered a considerable amount of his money on his night-time purchases, but he found himself reluctant to leave the man alone with no explanation of where he was in case he woke and found himself alone. Instead he opened the internal glass door on the front side of the container and let the morning light from his balcony into his home. He’d read somewhere that the balconies had once been intended for people to sit out in and get some sun, but safety and the storms had ended that long before James was a child. Instead the balcony was walled off with an internal and external shutter, allowing for light in good weather. However, the external wall was barred with industrial-grade trellis-work to add a measure of security and privacy when the shutters were open. It was here that James had his garden, which amounted to six pots containing one plant each of peppers, tomatoes, cucumbers, garlic, ginger and a basic hydroponics container for spinach. This was how he augmented his food supply and eked out his meager earnings. He watered them and gathered a ripe pepper and cucumber, and then reminded himself that he needed to eat. The winds were blowing warm when he finally sat down to consume the stew he’d put together from yesterday’s purchase of meat and rice, with a pepper and cucumber sliced on top. A steaming cup of tea with a dollop of ghee rounded it out, and with his belly satisfied he relaxed and basked in the warmth of the day. The winds promised a storm was coming, but right now it was hours away. He pulled out his tablet again and summoned up a book and lost himself in its pages. Sounds from his bedroom alerted him to his guest waking again. He went through and crouched by the man’s side. Already, the bruising and swelling on the face had subsided enough for James to form a clearer impression of what he looked like.

“Hello,” he said, wondering what the correct way was to have this conversation. “I’m James. I’m going to get you some more pills. You might find it difficult to talk. You’ve been badly hurt.”  


The man’s eyes again turned towards him, searching for an answer. James rose and returned with more pills and water, this time the man accepted them without instruction and swallowed the water gratefully. 

“I’m going to get you some more water,” said James. “You must be dehydrated, you’ve been sleeping for hours. If you’re hungry, I can make you something.”

The man shook his head.

“Soup, maybe. You shouldn’t be taking all this medication on an empty stomach.”

The man seemed to consider this and nodded slowly, suddenly wincing and hissing as his head injury hurt him.

“Sorry,” James whispered. “I don’t know what happened to you, but you’re covered in bruises and cuts. After you’ve eaten I’d like to treat your wounds again, if you can stand it.”

The man hesitated but then nodded again.

James returned to the kitchen and added water to what was left of his stew, spooned two heaps of soya paste into the mix and heated it through while liquidising it with a potato masher. He poured it into a mug and returned to the bedroom. He helped the man to sit up which resulted in a few involuntary moans and then held the mug up to his lips so that he could sip at the liquid.

“Um,” said James, I’m afraid I don’t know your name, and when I found you there was no ID on you.”

The man stared at him and James could see panic rising in his eyes. He shook his head mutely.

“Can’t remember?”

The man shook his head.

“You could have amnesia. You definitely got a hard wack to the back of your head.”

The man’s hand automatically reached up to his head, and he winced as he touched the lump there.

“Don’t worry about it,” said James.

The man stared in indignant surprise at him.

“I did some research. It’s not uncommon in cases of concussion. Your memory should return soon.”

The man nodded, somewhat appeased by this.

“I have to call you something though,” said James, “only I’m bad at coming up with names. How does Joe sound?”

The man looked indignant again.

“No?” James started to smile a little. “Tom? Peter? John? Alan? Louis? Wait - Louis?”

The man nodded at the name, then frowned, shook his head and then shrugged.

“Louis for now then?”

Then man rolled his eyes and then nodded and sighed.

“Louis, then, until your memory comes back.”

Louis smiled at him a little stiffly due to the swelling on his face.

“I’m thinking I should help you to the loo,” James continued. “Then I’ll treat your wounds again.”

That elicited a grimace.

“It’s okay. Oh, your clothes were ruined, I’ll have to give you some of mine.”

Louis suddenly seemed to realise he was naked in a strange man’s bed and looked horrified.

“Don’t worry, your virtue is intact, Louis, I promise.”

This elicited a guffaw which turned into a wince. James turned away and opened a small chest and returned with a cotton t-shirt, softened by years of wear and a pair of tracksuit bottoms.

“Hmm, maybe we should leave the shirt until after I’ve treated your back, here, put your legs over the edge of the bed, and I’ll do the rest.”

Louis hobbled painfully on James’s arm to the bathroom, and then gasped when he saw his misshapen face in the mirror, all swollen and purple.

“It’s already much better,” said James. Louis looked unconvinced at this. “You should have seen you yesterday,” he tried again. Louis rolled his eyes and then fumbled over to the toilet bowl.

“I’ll, um, be outside,” said James and left the man to piss in peace.

The second application of antiseptic went better than the first now that Louis could cooperate as much as he was able.

“This is an antibiotic cream that the clinic suggested for the bad cuts,” James said gently dabbing the wound on his head. Louis hissed a few times, but today there were no whimpers which James decided either meant he was on the mend or the man was normally a stoic.

“I think you may have a fractured rib on your right there, so I got some bandage to bind your chest. It will give you some extra support.”

“More sleep?” he asked when he was finished. The man nodded groggily and lowered himself carefully back onto the pillows.

“Thank you,” Louis’s voice was husky and roughened, and his words were muffled by his swollen jaw.

James smiled at him and left him to sleep.

In the morning James brought him some thin porridge made from rice and miso paste and some tea with his pills, and sat with his arm supporting Louis while holding the bowl to his mouth.

“I have to go to and work today. I, um, play near the Market, sometimes outside the Park. I’ll leave more water for you. And my tablet is on the bedside table, if you want to read or surf the Net. Is that okay?”

Louis nodded, swallowing the last of his porridge. 

“Your face is looking better this morning, the swelling is going down. Do you want to get up? I can help you to the bathroom again.”

Louis considered this for a moment and then roused himself and tried to get up by himself. He staggered slightly and James steadied him until he had cleared his head and gingerly placed one shaky foot in front of another.

“Excellent, you’re making fantastic progress,” said James.

Louis had a small smile of satisfaction on his face until he paused in front of the mirror again and stared at the purpling bruises that still covered his face. His eyes showed complete bewilderment when he peered at his reflection.

“Louis? Better, huh?”

Louis frowned slightly and shrugged.

He made it back to bed under his own steam and James brought a filled mug of water and set it upon the bedside table.

“Okay, I’m off now. I’ll bring us back something for supper.”

The sun was lowering in the skies when James returned looking tired but with a spark in his eyes. Louis heard him rummaging around in the kitchen before his head popped around the door.

“Oh, you’re awake. Evening, Louis. How are you feeling?”

Louis tested his jaw carefully before he rasped, “Better. I think.”

“You’re due more pills now, so I’ll just get supper ready. I got some chicken on the way home. Do you want to come through? Sit on the couch while I make dinner?”

Louis nodded, eager for a change in routine. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and this time made it to his feet himself without much wobbling and began his slow and painful shuffle to the bathroom. James left him to his own devices while he browned some rice in ghee and then added the chicken and tossed in some fresh peppers and tomatoes and ginger and garlic to the pot. Louis hobbled in after a few minutes and James was at his side in a split second. 

“Here, let me just get the cushions behind you.” 

He ran into the bedroom and returned with the quilt which he laid over Louis’s knees. Louis was slowly taking in his surroundings.

He gestured at James’s balcony, which was a riot of colour and green in the light of the sinking sun.

“That’s clever!”

James smiled.

“It’s for fresh vegetables. I also use it for drying laundry on hot days. Storm’s heading this way soon though, so I’ll have to bring the outer shutter down before it hits.”

Louis nodded and then paused and frowned.

“How do I remember what storms are and not know my own name?”

“Amnesia’s selective,” said James, “but I will admit that I don’t understand anything about how it works.”

“What are you growing, then?” said Louis.

“Tomatoes, peppers and cucumbers mainly. For the vitamins. And then there’s the spinach, that’s for iron and protein. I wish I had some fruit trees though. Fruit is so expensive now.”

James dished up the chicken stew and brought Lewis a bowl and set a mug of tea down with it, along with his dose of pills.

“And a coffee-bean tree. I love coffee. I remember the first cup I ever had on my birthday when I was twelve, it was the most miraculous thing I’d ever tasted. But it gets more and more expensive every year. So I save and buy myself a packet every Christmas as a treat. But if I could have a coffee-bean tree, that would be the best thing ever. I’ve never seen one for sale in the market though.” He trailed off, “I probably couldn’t afford it anyway, but that’s what I’d like one day.”

Louis frowned. Somewhere in his head he knew that he drank coffee often enough and had never thought anything of it. Did that make him rich? This lad certainly wasn’t, with his one-room home and carefully-counted coins.

“Where are we, exactly?” he asked.

“Um, in The Locks,” James looked slightly defiant.

Louis nodded, recollecting something at the back of his brain.

“I remember that. When I was a nipper they were all new. There were advertisements that said they were the perfect compact living-space on the river’s edge.”

James nodded. 

“Weren’t they supposed to be mobile?” Lewis asked. “Only I’m sure that the advertisement said you could move them where you wanted.”

James shrugged. “Don’t know. Maybe. I don’t think any of them have ever been moved though. They’re all bolted together and locked. Some people think that’s why it’s called The Locks. But, it’s -”

“It’s called The Locks because there used to be locks on the river that boats used to go up and down canals with different water levels.”

James grinned in appreciation, “Yes, that’s it exactly.”

The whine of the wind outside made James rise and press a button in the wall that brought the outside shutter down. Another illuminated a bulb that burned dimly at first but gradually gleamed brightly in the sudden gloom.

“You remember about the Southern Storms?”

“Dust and sand blowing in from Africa? Lucky we’re so far inland that we’re quite protected here.”

James grinned. “Your memory seems to be pretty intact. Oh, and now - “ he darted back the the kitchen counter top and returned bearing a bag proudly, “peaches! I found us peaches.”

He withdrew two round, golden peaches from the bag and offered one to Louis and then bit in to the other with relish. Louis bit into his more carefully as his jaw hurt and his lip was still split at the corner. It was only while contemplating the closed-eyed bliss on the face of his young companion that he realised that this too was a treasured treat in the life of the boy. He was fairly sure that fruit was something he himself had habitually eaten without ceremony. Yet, here he was now, eating a peach that had been offered as if it were a prize, a treasure. Perhaps it told him he was well-off in his real life. But perhaps here was a lesson in the true value of things, and in the undeserved generosity and kindness of a stranger. 

The overhead light began to stutter and James looked up at it and immediately stood and went over to the counter, retrieved a coin from his jar and then fed it into a meter that Louis had not noticed before.

“Um, if you ever need it during the day, I keep coins in the jar. Fifty credits will give you five hours.”

Louis nodded, again fairly certain that he’d never in his life fed a coin meter. He was used to just flicking a switch, wasn’t he?

“Thanks James. Shouldn’t need it during the day much, should I?”

“Not if we charge the tablet at night,” James shrugged. “Let me do your cuts again.” He went into the bathroom and returned with a cloth and the now familiar antiseptic and ointment.

Lewis needed help with the t-shirt, he still had trouble lifting his right arm. To distract himself he said, “Do you have any family, James?”

He couldn’t see his face as James was daubing his back but the lad’s tone changed slightly, and he said, “No, not anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” said Lewis, unsure of what else to add.

“It was a long time ago,” said James. “That’s how I have this place.”

For a while he was silent, attending carefully to his duties. Then he said, “I grew up on a farm outside of the City. It belonged to one of the Lords of the City. That’s where I learned to love growing things. Then when I was twelve I won a scholarship to school, a proper one. My mother was glad but my father didn’t think it was think it was a good idea. At the time I was excited because I loved learning things and reading, but it wasn’t what I thought it was going to be.”

He lapsed into silence again and Louis couldn’t help asking, “Why was that?”

“The other children. They made fun of me for being from a farm. I didn’t know that being from a farm was supposed to be a bad thing.”

“Kids can be right bastards,” Louis observed.

“So can their parents,” said James. “Anyway, that’s another thing that was long ago.”

“You didn’t want to go on to university?”

James laughed, but there was no humour in it.

“Yes. By the time I’d finished school they’d abolished scholarships and brought in full fees. The only way someone like me was going to go was if I had a sponsor. I didn’t have one. Also, -”

“Long time ago?” Louis interrupted.

“Exactly.” James gave him a little smile.

“I do alright,” he added. “I make enough to get by and have books. I don’t need anything else.”

“Sounds a bit lonely, though.”

“I hadn’t thought so. There. All done.”

“Thanks,” said Louis. He looked around the room again. It bore signs of someone who liked beauty and spent most of his spare hours here in his sanctuary. There were a few posters on the walls and a painting of a folly in a field in pride of place. There was a bookcase filled with genuine books made of paper and then there were the plants, evidently tended with great care.

“Where did you get the books from?” Louis asked.

“A library I sometimes go to, they were just throwing them out. They do that sometimes, when a book is old and nobody wants them anymore. They’re not like the ones at the Bodleian, those are valuable. These ones, well, they were going to burn them. It took me several trips to carry these back here.”

“Very enterprising of you. What sort of music do you play?” he asked, noticing the guitar case against the wall.

“All sorts. I like old music, from the medieval period. A bit of jazz sometimes. But people often ask me to sing stuff in the charts. I try, but often I don’t know the song they’re talking about.”

“I’d like to hear that,” said Louis politely.

The lad’s face brightened considerably and he went to retrieve his instrument and settled on the other end of the couch tuning the strings briefly before he moved suddenly into a sad melody. Louis was instantly transfixed. He’d imagined that James would be like your average busker, competent, occasionally wobbly, if he was any judge. But it was clear from the first note that James was something else, a virtuoso, master of his music, one with his guitar while music flowed from his fingers seemingly effortlessly. The boy’s eyes were closed and he seemed to be able to touch each string by instinct or feel alone. James played piece after piece until just as abruptly, he stopped and looked up at Louis.

“That’s,” Louis had to clear his throat and try again, “that was amazing, I had no idea. You’re incredible.”

James flushed and beamed and murmured, “Thank you,” shyly.

In the morning James asked him if he wanted to shower. Louis found that he did, the days of lying in bed suddenly making him feel grimy. James placed a chair in the shower so that he could sit or use it to balance and left him to make use of his toiletries.

When he emerged a little later feeling better than he had in a while, James had stripped the bed and was bundling the pillowcases and duvet cover into a small plastic barrel with a handle that spun the whole device.

“It’s a centrifugal washing machine,” James said seeing Louis looking puzzled. “No electricity, you spin it with the handle and physics does the rest. The only downside is if you put in too much soap it’s a bastard to rinse your clothes out.”

“Very clever,” said Louis seating himself on the couch again. Immediately the lad rose and placed a bowl of porridge and a mug of tea in front of him.

“I’ll do your back when you’re finished” he said.

“Thanks,” said Louis. He sipped at the tea while James finished the laundry and hung the items out on a clothes horse that he placed in the sun streaming in through the balcony.

“I’ll set you up on the couch for the day while the bedding dries,” he said.

James returned at sundown bearing carrots and potatoes and chunks of beef cut-offs and set about making a stew again. Louis had spent most of the day dozing and trying to read and felt slightly guilty when James took down the laundry and made up his bed. After supper James played for him again, seemingly happy to make this part of their tentative routine before he tended to Louis’s wounds and re-bound his chest again.

“These are healing well,” he said sounding pleased.

Louis woke in the middle of the night needing water. He ambled through to the kitchen tap and tried not to disturb James asleep on the couch. As his eyes fell on his unconscious form, he realised with a jolt that the boy had only a thin coverlet over him and was using the cushions as a pillow. It suddenly struck him again how kind James had been, sharing his home, his food, his bed; all with a complete stranger. 

Next morning Louis was surprised to see that his face was almost back to normal, bar the purplish-blue bruising that still framed his eyes and trailed feather-like down the side of his nose.

“That looks so much better,” said James with a smile. “You’ll be back to your handsome self in no time.” 

Louis nearly choked on his tea and they grinned at each other while they ate their porridge together.

“Still can’t remember me own name though.”

James shrugged. “It’ll come.”

When James returned home the following evening armed with spicy sausages and some sort of swede, Louis felt his pulse quicken as James smiled at him and he realised he’d been waiting for his return all day.

“Let me help with the supper, lad,” he asked. “You’ve been waiting on me hand and foot all week.”

James smiled at him and murmured something, but he let Louis take over at the hotplate and showed him how to harvest the spinach from the hydroponics crate and how to turn the three ingredients into a hearty stew.

As they sat together eating, James looked over at the book Louis had taken down from the shelf to read during the day.

“‘One Hundred Mystery Murders’, eh? I don’t think I’ve read that one yet. Any good?”

“It’s hilarious. Unintentionally. They’re supposed to be real old cases that were unsolved, so I’ve been trying to see if I can figure some of them out.”

“And can you?”

“Mostly there’s not near enough details to make a call.”

James was grinning at him. “How about reading one to me while I do the washing up? We can work it out together.”

Louis returned his grin. “Sounds good to me.”

Louis read aloud while James scoured the pot and the bowls and wiped the suds from his hands.

“Wait a minute. They’re actually suggesting a ghost did it because Mrs Martin told her priest she saw a ghost and the priest vouched that she had really said it?” James sounded half amused and half outraged.

“Seems that way.”

“Well, Mrs Martin and Father Howley go straight to the top of my list of suspects. Didn’t any of these people have a clue about reality? When did this supposedly happen?”

Louis laughed and checked the chapter title page.

“1923.”

James snorted. “Priceless.”

The next one fared a little better with Louis of the opinion that the husband did it, and James holding out for the bank manager. Then James took the book and read while Louis leaned back among the cushions and listened with a smile on his face until he fell asleep. He woke briefly when James touched his arm and helped him back to bed. Louis’s dreams were filled with a blonde man with grey-green eyes who touched him gently and kept the monsters away.

“Do you think you could manage a ladder up to the roof?” said James over breakfast the next morning.  


Louis nodded eagerly. 

“I want to show you the view.”

It was the first time Louis had been outside since he’d arrived in The Locks, and he felt a simultaneous sense of freedom and crushing fear. Anyone could be one of the people who had beaten him and left him for the Burners of the Hygiene Department. He shrank back into the hoodie he was currently borrowing from James, but when they were on the roof all thoughts dissipated and he was momentarily dumbstruck by the panorama around him. He could see gold of The Spires on one side and a shimmering green on the other.

“Those are the Thrupp Lake rice paddy fields in the distance,” said James pointing at the green haze. 

They stood for a while drinking in the blue skies shot through with blazing gold and crimson. Louis felt elation surge through him and he moved automatically and put his arm around James’s waist. A moment later he was aware of what he had done, and was about to remove his arm when James gave him a sweet smile and wrapped his arm around him in reply.

It changed everything. They had been strangers cohabiting the same space. Now Louis waited for James eagerly at the end of each day. He tended the balcony garden and read and rested during the hours of sunshine while James was plying his talents around the City. When the sun began to sink Louis started getting things ready for supper and waited for James to walk through the door, sometimes tired, sometimes buoyant; but always with a smile for him, then a hug, gentle and casual. They would eat, read, play music and laugh; and then James would tend to Louis’s back and chest even though the antiseptics and antibiotics were gradually being replaced with oils.

“To keep your muscles limber,” said James. Louis didn’t think that anyone had used the word “limber” in the last century, present company excepted; but it suited James with his upright and proper ways. It wasn’t as if he ever considered objecting. It was bliss to be soothed to sleep every night by gentle warm hands. They both knew that they were falling into each other’s gravity, and neither of them showed the slightest hesitation. James had done a search for missing persons on the Net, but nothing had fitted Louis’s description. On a flash of inspiration, he’d tried the same for the Tynesdale region, but again there seemed to be nothing.

“What if I never remember who I am?” said Louis one night.

“Doesn’t matter,” said James seating himself next to him and putting his arm around him. “I mean, I know it’s frustrating for you. But I like having you here. I thought I was happy alone, but now I know I would miss you if you weren’t here.”

“I’m your house-husband,” said Louis.

“Pretty much,” said James with a grin.

They chuckled at each other and then James kissed Louis, quickly and gently. He didn’t have to wait a second before Louis responded, eager but just as softly at first.

“I mean it,” said James. “I didn’t ever think I would fall for anyone. But you’re different.”

“Even though you don’t know anything about me?”

“I know plenty. All I need to know. I love your sense of humour, I love how you are gentle but also resilient. I love your smile, and I love your blue eyes and your beautiful accent.”

“I’m not sure blue eyes and an accent are a necessarily a solid basis for a good relationship, James.”

“Shows what you know,” said James kissing him again.

“Stay with me tonight?” Louis asked. “Don’t sleep on the couch anymore.”

“Really?” James looked joyful.

“Yes, really. Not for, um, anything. Don’t think my rib will let me get up to much.”

He was deluged with kisses and he let himself be led to the bedroom where James stripped him of his clothes and made him lie down so that he could give his body it’s usual application of oils. The difference this time was that when James had finished he did not retreat to the front room but instead snuggled up against Louis under the duvet, their combined breath mingling and warming them. James had an enigmatic smile on his face.

“What?” said Louis.

“Nothing. I’m just happy.”

“It’s a good look on you,” said Louis kissing him lightly and stroking his hair.

James did not sleep at first. Long after Louis had fallen asleep, as his rhythmic breathing testified, James lay awake unused to sharing a bed, a stranger to intimacy and half-afraid to move for fear of disrupting Louis. For his part, Louis was evidently unconcerned and was sleeping soundly with his arm around James and his face pressed to his neck. James wondered if he was used to sharing his bed with someone. Maybe some glossy, beautiful woman - James sometimes entertained the idea that Louis was a mob boss who had been turned on by his henchmen. But that didn’t seem to fit with the gentle, unassuming man he had come to know. But whoever he had been in his previous life, James could imagine that he had never been short of company. He was handsome in a craggy sort of way, and more sure of himself even with his amnesia than James had ever been. Perhaps he was a businessman of the City, accustomed to gleaming architecture, thick carpets and fancy foods - and any man or woman who caught his eye. Louis turned over, fast asleep and wriggled his back up against James. James wasn’t sure what to do. He put his arm around Louis and lay in the darkness spooning him with his body. After a while it became uncomfortable, so he experimented by turning over to and wriggling his back against Louis’s. That worked. Louis was warm and solid against his back, and finally he felt himself drifting off into oblivion.

James returned home mid-afternoon the following day bearing a new plant with green chillies and a slightly grim look on his face.

“You’re back early,” said Robbie helping him make space for the new plant in the balcony.

“There was a raid in the City today. I didn’t even see them coming. One minute I was sitting outside the the Park and the next there were police all over the place with helmets and guns. They just burst into a building and there was gunfire everywhere. I got out of there as quickly as I could.”

The lad looked a little pale, so Louis said, “Sit down, I’ll make you some tea.”

James complied with the order, fingers drumming on the armrests of the couch.

“Didn’t feel like playing after that. But at least I saw the chilli bush when I stopped for food on the way home. I’ve been looking for one of these for a while.”

Louis put the kettle on and opened James's backpack to retrieve the food. Looked like it was going to be pork and tofu tonight. There was also a package of sweet-smelling spices inside.

“That’s so we can make chai,” said James. “Cardamom, allspice, cinnamon and cloves. And we’ve already got fresh ginger. Did you know that once upon a time the British police didn’t carry guns everywhere?”

“You’re certainly a font of knowledge, and that’s a fact,” said Louis with a smile.

James laughed, still brimming with nervous energy.

“We should get some whiskey into you,” Louis continued, “but I think I’ll make you some of that chai now. Bit of sugar should help settle you.”

He steeped the spices and tea in the pot usually dedicated to tea and added some brown sugar and slowly heated it through, stirring gently. Then he strained the mixture into mugs and added a knob of ghee to each and then brought them back to the couch. James inhaled the aroma gratefully and then sipped it.

“Mmm. It’s good,” he said, leaning up against Louis. “It breaks the mood in the City, when there’s a raid like that.”

James was evidently not done yet.

“Suddenly everyone’s on edge and no-one wants to stop and listen to music.”

This was clearly the main cause of the discontent. Louis felt badly for him. By now he knew that James had little in the way of coin saved away in the jar. Every day he added a few more from what was left of the day’s earnings after the meat and sundry bits and pieces had been deducted from it. But James had to be spending more money these days, now that he was buying for two, and that didn’t even begin to factor in the small fortune that must have been spent on the pills and ointment to take care of Louis’s injuries. He hoped that somehow he would be able to repay his debt one day. It weighed on his conscience that what had been so freely given had cost the lad dearly. In the meantime he would have to settle for making supper. He kissed James lightly on the temple and rose to turn the pork and tofu into something tasty.

That night Louis dreamed of guns and riot gear and blood. When he woke, he felt comforted by the presence of James sleeping next to him and he snuggled into his chest as close as he could. He felt James’s hand move into his hair and hold him there until he fell asleep again.

He woke again to a kiss being gently placed on his mouth.

“Morning, Louis.”

His eyes snapped open and he sat up staring at James.

“It’s not Louis,” he said. “It’s Robbie. Robbie Lewis.”

James started and then grinned widely.

“That’s fantastic, you remember.”

Robbie returned his smile.

“What else do you remember?”

“I’m a policeman. A DI with Thames Valley Division.”

James’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Huh. I didn’t even think of that.”

“No? What did you think.”

“Um,” James looked slightly bashful, “Well, I did wonder if you were a gang leader, you know, considering your injuries and where you were left,” he hurriedly added, “also maybe a businessman from the City since I thought you were too nice to be running the gangs.”

“A mob boss?!” Robbie managed to sound amused and outraged at the same time. Then he laughed. “I suppose I can see how that made sense. Mob boss. Heh.”

James’s mouth twitched in amusement.

“Although, you weren’t entirely wrong. Fairly sure it was the gangs that got me. I was investigating one of the black market rackets in the city. Been undercover a bit and someone must have made me, or given me away. On the day of the - well, the day you found me, I’d been put off the case and ordered to stay home for a few weeks.”

“That’s why you weren’t listed as missing.”

“Must have been. Didn’t see them coming, unfortunately, so I don’t know for sure who it was.”

“Should you let them know? Your police, I mean?” said James.

“I think I want to go home and get some clothes first. Can’t go in wearing your t-shirts, comfortable though they may be.”

James smiled at him, but there was something tight about his expression. Robbie held out his hand, “Coming with me?”

This time the smile was genuine.

They set off across the City on foot after breakfast. Robbie wore one of James’s hoodies, still anxious about being seen by the wrong person. As they left the Markets behind them and climbed the gentle incline towards The Dreaming James fell silent, and Robbie wondered what the lad was worrying about. 

“This is nice,” said James sounding very uncertain.

“Never been up here before?” asked Robbie.

“No, they don’t take kindly to buskers outside the central parts of the City,” was the quiet reply.

“Ah,” said Robbie feeling slightly foolish. “Well, this is me,” he added waving at the house they were in front of.

“But you don’t have your keys,” said James.

“Chip,” said Robbie, tapping his wrist. He waved his arm in front of a sensor and with a whir the lock disengaged. They entered and James looked at him in amazement.

“You’re chipped? I’ve heard of those. We could have found out who you were straight away. I’m sorry, Lou- Robbie,” James sounded contrite.

“Then I would have missed out on you, James.”

He got a little smile for that.

Robbie’s place was upmarket and stylish and sterile, and seemed like a ridiculous waste of space after living in a container apartment for several weeks.

“I’d offer you tea, only I have a horrible feeling that everything in the fridge will have gone bad by now.”

“We could drink it without milk?” said James, “I’ll boil the kettle while you get changed.” 

Robbie gestured to the kitchen. “Ta, lad. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

He went into his bedroom and then into his en suite and stared at his reflection in the mirror. The bruises had faded but there were still purple marks under his eyes, more visible under the white lights here than in the relative dark of James’s bathroom. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, then grabbed his brush and tried to neaten up a bit.

James’s eyes goggled at him when he returned to the kitchen in his suit and tie. 

“Wow,” he said, “you look nice, wow…” he trailed off shyly.

Robbie grinned. “I scrub up okay.”

James handed him a cup of green tea. “More than okay.” He sounded starstruck.

“Ta.”

James stared in fascination out of the window at the backyard that Robbie had never bothered to do anything with. Most of his neighbours had turned them into extensions, a few had elaborate greenhouses. Robbie had never had the time or the imagination to do anything with it, so it remained barren and desolate with the few bits of vegetation that remained scoured into stunted submission by the Southern Storms.

“So much space,” James murmured, and then he looked embarrassed. 

“I know,” said Robbie. “I should do something with it, but I never really knew what to do.”

“A garden,” said James with certainty, “you should have a garden. Just think of all the things you could grow there.”

Robbie grinned at him. “Only if you help me.”

He got a surprised smile in return.

“Well, I suppose it’s about time I headed in to Division, let them know what’s happened. I’ll drop you off along the way, and I’ll come round this evening when I’m done.”

James nodded and looked so happy that Robbie had to kiss him before he did anything else. 

Driving James back into the City in his car was an experience. It was clear the lad was not used to being on the inside of these vehicles, and he stared with round eyes at the sat-nav system and jumped slightly when the onboard computer acknowledged Robbie’s instructions. He looked briefly apprehensive when they started to move, and then glued himself to the window, fascinated by the prospect of the watching the scenery flash by. Robbie strove to keep a straight face, he didn’t want to make the lad feel like he was being mocked. He dropped James off at The Meadows, gave him a brief kiss and said, “I’ll see you later.”

“Um, how do I get out?” James asked looking lost.

“See the handle next to you? Press that down.”

James pressed it and looked relieved when the door swung open.

“See you later, Robbie.”

Robbie felt uncharacteristically nervous when he returned to The Locks that evening. He realised that most of his time with James had been relaxed and happy, and the feeling had become almost alien to him. He parked the car as near as he could get and gathered the things he’d brought with him; two bottles of wine and a brown paper envelope that he tucked into his jacket pocket. He felt rather overdressed for the The Locks, made him stick out a bit.

James looked a bit nervous too when he opened his door, but a smile immediately spread across his face and he took the offered wine with an excited grin.

“Wow, thank you!” he said, “this will go nicely with dinner.”

Robbie noticed that dinner had gotten a bit more expensive than usual. Judging by the delicious aromas in the room, James had made a beef curry. His heart sank a little when he realised that James had spent more money than he could really afford to make him a dinner that he felt was more appropriate for a man of Robbie’s standing.

“Smells like heaven in here,” he said.

They ate on the couch again, side by side. James kept darting little smiles in his direction as he sipped his wine and Robbie filled him in on his news.

“So the raid you saw was actually my lot taking out the gang I was involved in investigating. They’re gone.”

James exhaled noisily. “Good, so you’re safe.”

“Yes, I suppose. It was my own fault that day. I wasn’t paying attention. I should have gone right home, but instead I went for a walk to let off steam. It was stupid of me.”

“How can you say it was your own fault? It was the gangs, they did it.”

Robbie looked at the earnest face next to him and smiled. “Fair enough. Anyway, it wasn’t all bad. I met you.”

James went slightly pink.

“These last few weeks with you have been good, you looked after me out of the goodness of your heart, and I’ll never forget that.”

“It was my pleasure, Robbie. I mean at first I was just trying to help, but the last few weeks meant everything to me. You’re my best friend. I’d do anything for you.”

Robbie finished off his glass of wine.

“I’d better get home. I’m sorry to cut this short, lad, but I’ve got an early morning start now that I’m back in the saddle.”

James looked disappointed but smiled tightly.

“No tea?”

“Not tonight.”

Robbie could sense the atmosphere becoming strained so he stood and grabbed his jacket from the chair. As he eased himself into it, still mindful of the twinges in his rib, he felt the packet rustle against him and he withdrew it from his pocket and handed it over.

“I wanted you to have this,” he said.

James took it looking confused and opened it cautiously, withdrawing a wad of credit notes that made his eyes widen and his brow crease.

“I don’t understand,” he said.

“I know you spent a lot on me getting me medicine I needed. I didn’t want you to be out of pocket because of me.”

“But,” James looked bewildered, “it was a gift. You don’t pay back gifts.”

James looked so distressed that Robbie took the offending packet back from his fingers and put it away again.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. I only thought … you’d spent so much money on me…” Robbie trailed off noting the look of distress on James’s face. “I’ll see you,” he added awkwardly before leaving as quickly as he could. His last glimpse at the lad confirmed that James had closed in on himself and his face was a mask blank of all expression.

Robbie cursed himself all the way home. He’d meant for James to not have to bear the financial brunt of medical expenses he hadn’t budgeted for. Instead he’d deeply insulted him, and he wasn’t sure what to do about it. They were from two different worlds, he from a world of a comfortable, steady income and technology; and running out of something simply meant placing an order for more. James had none of those things, he lived frugally and every coin counted. Even basic creature comforts had to be carefully measured and sparingly used. Perhaps it was impossible for them to be together. While Robbie didn’t consider himself wealthy, there was never going to be any getting away from the fact that Robbie took for granted being able to afford things that were simply beyond James’s reach.

He’d hoped that being back at work would provide a distraction, but in the days and nights that followed he was haunted by his last few moments with James. He tossed at night, hardly able to sleep, as if all the sleep he’d had in the last few weeks were now coming back for vengeance. He found himself looking for a familiar blonde head in the crowds whenever he passed through the places James had said he worked, but he never saw him. After one hopeless night when he’d tossed and turned for hours, he found himself trawling the Net and looking at the price of fruit trees. He stared into the darkness beyond his kitchen, to the desolate backyard and remembered James and his smile when Robbie had suggested they make a garden together. After a quick search of the Net to confirm what conservatory conversions cost, and a quick look at his bank account he filled out a form on a website and took the most expensive gamble of his life.

A few days later James was wearily returning home in the evening when he spotted Robbie Lewis sitting outside his container, on the ground back against the wall. Keeping his face guarded he advanced slowly and tried to ignore his quickened heartbeat and was greeted with a smile.

“Hello James.” Robbie stood up and brushed himself off. The Locks were not a good environment for suits and neatly pressed trousers.

“Robbie,” said James cautiously.

“Can I come in?” asked Robbie. 

James sighed and nodded and walked past him, unlocking the door and standing aside so he could enter.

There was silence as they entered, James uncharacteristically quiet and refusing to look him in the eyes. Robbie waited until the lad raised his head, half in confusion and half in defiance.

“I came here to apologise and ask you to give me a second chance, James. I miss you. I miss being with you.”

James’s eyes registered surprise.

“I messed up, I didn’t think about what I was doing, or what it would seem like to you. I didn’t mean it the way it came across. I was so grateful for everything you had done for me, all your kindness and caring, and I didn’t think. I didn’t mean to reduce it to money. There’s nothing, lad, nothing that could ever repay what you did. Will you forgive me?”

“Of course,” said James quietly.

Robbie heaved a mental sigh of relief. James was still regarding him cautiously, and he guessed he deserved that.

“Brought you some oranges as a peace offering,” he added holding out a brown paper bag containing three brightly-coloured fruit.

James’s mouth twitched slightly and then he took the bag with a tremulous smile.

“Thank you. I’ve missed you too. It’s not the same here without you.”

“I can’t sleep properly without you.”

They were doing confessions apparently. It seemed to help.

“Tea?” said James.

“Ta, I’d love some.”

Things had not immediately returned to the way things used to be. There was a gulf now, brought about by the differences in their lives; but Lewis hoped that they were slowly bridging it inch by inch. He’d coaxed James into resuming their suppers together, and even managed to get the lad to agree to letting Robbie bring the ingredients for half of them. James remained a little reticent, but had begun to return Robbie’s hugs freely and initiate some of his own. There’d even been a beautifully messy make-out session on the couch one night, which Robbie felt he’d screwed up by going home instead of staying the night as James had asked. However, Robbie felt a tentative courage brought on by the changes to his backyard patch. At last it was finished, and he took a deep breath and set out for The Locks again.

“Robbie,” James greeted him as he arrived at the door with a soft quick kiss to his mouth. It looked like there was a tofu stir-fry in the making featuring everything in the balcony garden and Robbie had brought some store-bought lemonade that James examined carefully and smiled at. Robbie relaxed.

“I’d like to show you something at home,” he said as they were finishing off their meal. James seemed curious but looked a little nervous at the prospect.

“It’s something we spoke about when you were there, and I wanted your opinion. And I have a question I want to ask you too.”

James looked slightly more terrified at that, but he could see that the lad’s natural curiosity was getting the better of him. Eventually James nodded and Robbie smiled at him and took his hand. On the way over in the car James once again was glued to the window as familiar scenery flashed by, although this time his hand was wrapped tightly in Robbie’s. Every so often he would cast tiny little glances at Robbie, clearly puzzled by the events of the evening, but every time his face would soften and a little smile would come out like the moon from behind a cloud. They drew up at the house, and James carefully pressed his lever to let himself out. His high-tension nerves were back and Robbie could see it in the sudden twitchiness of his movements. He opened the front door and took James by the hand and led him through to the kitchen. Then he switched on the lights and suppressed a smile at the involuntary gasp from James.

The backyard had been transformed, a large conservatory had been constructed in the space and Robbie had spent some time tracking down fruit trees and creeping vines to fill the place. He pulled James into it and pointed to a space in the middle. 

“Do you reckon your balcony garden could fit in here?”

James gaped at him.

“And here, it’s - “

“A coffee tree,” James exclaimed in surprise. 

“I got it from the Botany Gardens District, they produce some trees for commercial purposes.”

He realised James was still holding himself back, still unsure of what Robbie meant.

“This is yours, James, if you’ll accept it. There is nothing I could ever give you that could possibly match what I feel for you. But I miss us being together so much, I don’t feel whole without you anymore.” He stopped for a moment trying to work out what was going on behind James’s enigmatic eyes.

“You built this for me?” James said a little uncertainly.

Robbie nodded. “James, you’re the most important person in my life. I’m not asking you to change anything in your life, it’s up to you to do as you please. Just, move in with me.”

The change over James’s face came slowly, but as inexorably as a glacier thundering down a valley. His expression moved from hesitation to disbelief and then suddenly joy as he took in the new herb boxes waiting for plants and the seats and tables Robbie had placed inside for somewhere to sit and relax. He seemed to have lost all capacity for speech, but Robbie didn’t need any words to understand when James threw his arms around him and finally breathed against his neck one single syllable: “Yes!”

It took a year for James to finally sell his container in The Locks. He’d kept it long after his belongings had moved into Robbie’s house. Their house. Robbie had had the deed changed to include James’s name as soon as the lad agreed to it. It hadn’t rankled that James had hung on to this piece of his past, his independence. Robbie understood the lad’s need to be sure before he surrendered his place of refuge, his last resort if things had turned sour. But they hadn’t.

James still sometimes played in The Park and The Market, and he regularly returned with a new plant to add to their growing collection. Mostly the lad seemed happy to while away the hours in the conservatory, surrounded by greenery and growing plants. 

Robbie let himself in at the end of a long day, and shut the front door behind him. The house smelled like heaven again, James had recently discovered baking and had taken to it with zeal. He’d already endeared himself to everyone on Robbie’s floor at Division when a particular batch of citrus peel buns had yielded far more than they could possibly eat at home by themselves. It hadn’t hurt either that James had attended a civic event with him looking like he was lost royalty with his graceful height and authoritative voice. It had generally been agreed that Lewis had married above himself, an opinion that Robbie had gleefully repeated to James over breakfast that had sent the lad off on a fit of giggles. “It’s true, though,” Robbie had said, “I think I did.” He’d almost been late into work that morning.

A head poked around the corner from the conservatory. Robbie could see that James was on his knees in front of a seedling box, up to his elbows in earth. He beamed at Robbie and rose instantly, coming through to meet him with his lanky gait; less prince today, more woodland elf. Robbie's face was kissed and then he was folded into strong arms. Robbie let the tension of the day drain away as he was cocooned in a home that increasingly took on the shape of the heart of James Hathaway, filled with colour and life and music.

Robbie had already started on his new mission with James, encouraging him to consider going to university. He’d already caught the lad engrossed in the brochures he’d left lying about on purpose a few times. He reckoned he only needed to give it a bit of time. In the meantime, supper was bubbling on the stove and then they would relax among the trees and herbs and James would play them something until it was time for bed.


End file.
